


we must be killers

by ephemeraldt



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Established Relationship, F/F, more or less, nayeon-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-09-28 06:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20421341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeraldt/pseuds/ephemeraldt
Summary: Momo and Nayeon love each other. That's the easy part. It's everything else that's hard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so this is...this. updates should be fairly frequent! if they're not, feel free to harass me on twitter (@_ephe). i'm there now, so you all can hold me accountable. 
> 
> title from we must be killers by mikky ekko (not the most original fic song, but oh well). 
> 
> please read the end notes for content warnings.

It’s been two weeks and three days since Nayeon was supposed to hear about the new mission. 

Two weeks and three days of Jihyo’s sympathetic glances in the hallways. Two weeks and three days of radio silence from higher-ups. Two weeks and three days of Nayeon being confined to research duty in the computer lab when she should be preparing for her next field assignment, because she is a field agent, and going this long in between missions is a sign something is probably quite wrong. 

Safe to say, Nayeon is losing her mind - figuratively, of course. She very much has her physical mind, and it’s still the same mind that got her recruited by the company in the first place: sharp, quick, fast to adapt, with a special knack for picking up languages and dialects. In every way, she’s the ideal field agent. A model for the others.

_ You were, _ an evil voice inside her head supplies_. Except for the last time. But you don’t like to think about that, do you? _

Nayeon squeezes the stress ball on her desk so hard it threatens to burst. Mina gave her the thing on day five of her unofficial probation. Apparently she taps her fingers on her desk too much. 

“Find anything on Yeung?” Chaeyoung asks, without looking up from the complicated lines of code scrolling across her screen. 

“No,” Nayeon snorts, knowing that Chaeyoung is just trying to make conversation. Both Chaeyoung and Mina are perfectly aware that Nayeon spends her time in the computer lab playing desktop games and generally being unproductive. She isn’t like them, or Jeongyeon. She thrives in action. She doesn’t function well in the day-by-day, 9 to 5. 

Sure, Chaeyoung and Mina are attempting to hack into a billionaire-slash-secret-mob boss’s covert computer files and Jeongyeon is trying to manufacture a bomb so small it could be unknowingly slurped through a straw. Whatever. It’s still office work, by her standards. A fucking desk job. If this is what she’s meant to be doing, the company should have trained her for it when they recruited her. 

“Are you wallowing again?” Chaeyoung says, once again not turning around to look Nayeon in the face. Geek.

“I’m not wallowing,” Nayeon replies. “I’m sulking. There’s a difference.”

She’s fully prepared to explain it to Chaeyoung when the soft sound of Mina’s greeting ruptures her stream of thought. Mina is juggling a takeout bag and a coffee cup in her arms, propping the heavy glass door open with one thin elbow. Nayeon knows she should offer to help Mina, but it’s been a while since she felt, well, charitable. 

“I have news,” Mina continues after she enters, setting her food and drink on her desk. 

Nayeon’s pulse quickens. She knows better than to get her hopes up.

But at the same time, _ two weeks and three days. _

“What is it?”

Mina takes her time sitting down and smoothing out her skirt. She always dresses like she works as a librarian and not a top hacker at a literal spy agency. “They’re back.”

Nayeon can’t help it. She stands up, accidentally knocking her knees against her desk, and let out an audible cheer. This is the only, _ only _ piece of news that can come close to beating a new assignment. By a long shot.

“They’re back?” Chaeyoung asks, finally glancing up from the screen. Her face is confused, it's clear that she's trying to also suppress excitement. “But that’s early. It was a-”

“Level six, I know,” Mina answers. “Apparently, we had overestimated the amount of security that would be surrounding the target. They were able to do the execution in a matter of seconds.”

_ Seconds. _

Nayeon is a field agent. She was given basic combat training, and when missions took unexpected turns for the physical in the past, she had usually been able to handle herself until backup arrived. But she’s nothing close to an assassin. She can’t imagine running into a situation with the knowledge that, whatever happened, not everyone can come out of it alive. Killing a person and then going home and falling asleep, before waking up to do it all over again. 

She doesn’t know how Momo handles it. But then again, Momo is a special case. Everyone says so. 

Mina begins to calmly unpack her lunch. Nayeon still needs to know more.

“Do you have any details?” she asks, swiveling her chair so she was facing Mina’s desk. “There weren’t any injuries, right?”

“They’ll tell us everything in the notice after the debriefing. You know that,” Mina says.

“Yeah, but come on. You have to have heard _ something.” _

Mina looks up, a little exasperated. Lucky for Nayeon, Mina is easy to wear down. “I heard that Tzuyu got the final kill. That’s all I know.”

“Holy shit,” Chaeyoung exclaims, face breaking out into a grin. As soon as she notices Nayeon looking, though, the grin vanishes. “What?”

“Nothing,” Nayeon says, smothering a giggle. Chaeyoung’s puppy crush is cute, is all. 

They work for a few more hours. At the end of the day, Chaeyoung and Mina talk PHP while Nayeon wraps up her Solitaire game. 

“Same time tomorrow?” Mina asks. Nayeon grumbles in agreement. Of course, the ideal situation was getting assigned a new mission overnight and never stepping forth in the cold, lifeless lab again. 

“Hey Nayeon,” Chaeyoung says, as they start to leave. “Tell Momo I said hi.” 

Nayeon nods. Of course she will. She knows she’s closer to Momo than anyone else at the company. It’s a secret point of pride for her, that people see her as a way to reach Momo.

It isn’t until she’s on the way home that she wonders if Chaeyoung maybe meant something else. 

The company has an official name. Nayeon doesn’t know what it is. None of the operative agents do; it’s not in their job description. They’ve been trained in their various specialties since they were children, and any knowledge that goes beyond their necessary skills set is a distraction.

Nayeon was thirteen when she got recruited. It’s one of her clearest memories. Two burly men dressed in black picked her up from school, shuffling her into the backseat of the nicest car she had ever been in. They told her that they were from a spy organization, that they had been watching her and they knew she was special. Nayeon liked that part. She always knew she was better than the other kids at school, that she was destined for greatness. It was nice, to have it confirmed.

Then, the men told her that it wasn’t safe for her to see her family anymore. She would have to live with other girls her age and train until she was ready to be a real spy. Nayeon didn’t like that part as much. But she held in her tears until she was left alone at the dorm for the first time that night and was sure no one could hear her. 

In the years that followed, she would bond with her classmates and ace her training courses and attend many, many presentations on why the company was good and necessary and why the work she would be doing was important. As the lump in her throat began to fade, so did the faces in her memories. Nothing ever fully disappeared, but she was capable of handling the residue. 

They picked her because she was special. An actress, with a gift for adapting to any situation and earning people’s trust. Perfect for undercover field work. 

Over time, she only got better at pretending. 

When Nayeon gets home, Jeongyeon is still wearing her lab coat. 

“Nope,” Nayeon tsks. “Not allowed. Not in the kitchen.”

“You don’t control me,” Jeongyeon says without looking up from the bagel she’s slicing in half. 

Nayeon groans, as obnoxiously as possible. “Please just take it off. I don’t want to think about work right now.”

It sounds silly when she says it out loud. It's not like her life contains much else besides work. 

“We’re not even in the same division,” Jeongyeon says. She pops her bagel in the toaster. Nayeon narrows her eyes. 

“May I remind you, Yoo Jeongyeon, that I am on _ probation_? Every day, I wake up in the morning to do nothing but work a desk job and think about my shortcomings.” A month ago, she wouldn’t admit out loud to Jeongyeon that she had shortcomings. But things have changed. 

“You’re not on probation,” Jeongyeon says, because she always needs a retort. But then Jeongyeon actually looks at Nayeon, takes in her stiff shoulders and probably-red face, and wordlessly shrugs off the lab coat. “Well, not officially.”

The two of them first met about a year into Nayeon’s training. The supervisors were always going on about how important it was to be gentle with the newbies. But Nayeon didn't know Jeongyeon was new when Jeongyeon cut her in line at the cafeteria. If she had - well, she maybe still would have yanked Jeongyeon back by her shirt collar, but she wouldn’t have shouted “hey mushroom head, back of the line,” when she did. Jeongyeon burst into tears, probably because she missed her family or something, and Nayeon felt so bad that she swore to herself she’d eventually win the girl’s friendship. It took a few years, but she succeeded. Now, they have each other’s boundaries memorized for the sole purpose of brushing up against them, and they never go too far over the lines. 

“Shouldn’t you be moping in bed by now?” Jeongyeon asks, taking the bagel out of the toaster. “That’s been your afternoon routine lately.” 

“They’ll be back soon,” Nayeon replies, which is all the information Jeongyeon seems to need. Nayeon is a person who worries, as much as she pretends she isn’t. She knows Momo and Sana are okay, she does, but she has to make _ sure_. 

Nayeon checks the clock. Debriefing should be over by now. They should be on their way home. To keep her hands busy, Nayeon tidies up the coffee table, stacking up Sana’s fashion magazines and finally picking up Momo’s dirty mug. The mug had been sitting there since before the mission began. It’s one of Momo’s things, to be forgetful sometimes. Momo has a tendency to write down the wrong information and lose her glasses on top of her head. Nayeon’s always there, though, to look after her and glare daggers at anyone who dares call her stupid.

Nayeon carries the mug to the sink. It feels safe to wash it, now that Momo’s on her way home. Rolling up her sleeves, she gets started on the rest of the dishes. 

It’s the second apartment the four of them have shared together. A few years ago, someone leaked the location of the first one, and the company had to have it burned down. Their current place is smaller, but much more secure. It doesn’t look like much, since maintaining a low profile is essential. But the company pays the rent, as well as hefty bribes to the landlord and security guards. Nobody questions what the four tenets do for a living, or why they’re the only people ever seen coming in or out of the place. 

About fifteen minutes pass before Nayeon hears the door open. The frying pan in her hand drops with a clatter against the bottom of the sink. 

Nayeon barely has time to take in Momo’s appearance - track pants, white T-shirt, hair pulled back - before throwing her arms around her shoulders. She feels Momo’s hands land on her waist before drifting up to her back and pulling tight. In the background, she can hear Sana complaining about jet lag, and beyond that, cars honking from the streets below. But it still feels like the world stops turning for a second, because Momo is safe, and home, and in Nayeon’s arms. 

“Hey, you,” Nayeon says, pulling back. “Long time no see. Tell me everything.” 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about work,” Jeongyeon mutters. Nayeon graciously ignores her. 

Momo smiles, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. Not her full smile, Nayeon notices. Momo’s full smile never shows up immediately after a mission. It’s more frequently seen on the weekends, when the two of them watch dramas on the couch or grab dinner at one of the hole-in-the-wall places around the corner. 

“What do you want to know?” Sana asks, and Nayeon makes sure to go and hug her too. “He was a billionaire with mob connections. Now he’s a dead billionaire with mob connections.” 

“I heard Tzuyu got the kill,” Nayeon says. 

Momo and Sana exchange glances. “She did. She’s not a baby anymore,” Sana says. 

The fact that Momo and Sana think of Tzuyu as a baby is funny to Nayeon, since Tzuyu a. towers over all of them and b. has been trained to use her body as a weapon since early adolescence. 

“Are you going to throw her a party or something?”

“I don’t think she’d want that. She seemed pretty shaken up,” Momo says. “She’ll probably need some time to process everything.”

“Yeah, we can’t all be superstars like you,” Sana says, poking Momo lightly in the ribs. 

But Momo doesn’t move. Her face stays stone-still, focused on a spot on the floor. Sana chatters on, not seeming to notice. But Nayeon does. 

She brings it up later, after Sana and Jeongyeon have fallen asleep. Without knocking, she opens the door to Momo’s room. Momo is wrapped up in blankets on her bed, watching something on her laptop.

“You okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah, of course,” Momo says quickly, pausing whatever show it is. “You know how it is, after an assignment.”

“Right,” Nayeon says. Except she doesn’t know how it is, because her assignments don’t end with people getting killed in front of her. But to Momo, Nayeon supposes, it’s not that big of a deal. Probably. 

“Any news on your probation?” 

“No,” Nayeon groans, taking Momo’s change of subject as an invitation to flop on her bed. She sighs as Momo’s fingers start running through her hair. It feels nice. 

“Well, I might have some. But don’t get too excited.”

Nayeon jerks up immediately. “You mean news? Is there an assignment? Did you hear something?”

“Whoa there,” Momo says. “I just said not to get too excited. Now I can’t tell you, because you didn’t listen.”

“Just tell me,” Nayeon says, pouting. “I’ll be your best friend.”

“You are my best friend.”

“Then you should tell me what you know.”

“You’re impossible,” Momo says, but it’s Momo, so it comes out soft. Nayeon can’t imagine Momo as anything but soft. No matter how many times she’s seen Momo send three hundred-pound men to the ground with a few kicks to the chest, the Momo in her head always looks like this: cozy and gentle and almost delicate, in an old sweatshirt with a few loose strands of hair framing her face. 

“But you love me,” Nayeon prods. “Please?”

She doesn’t feel like going over all of it again: how she’s doubting her own place at the company, how she’ll drive herself crazy if there’s no new mission soon. Besides, it’s not like Momo needs to hear it. Momo gets her, in this intrinsic, subconscious sort of way. They don’t need words to communicate their feelings most of the time. 

“Okay,” Momo begins. “So I was leaving the debriefing, and I heard one of the higher-ups tell Jihyo that there’s this new target in Macau.” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Nayeon says. So far, routine stuff. 

“I didn’t catch the whole thing, but basically they don’t want to compromise unnecessary resources, blah blah blah.” 

“And?”

“They want to send out a duo. One field agent and one assassin. I don’t know why, or what it entails, but-”

“We could- it could be us,” Nayeon interrupts, hope surging in her chest before she can stop it. “Obviously they’re going to pick you. And they have to know-”

“That we do well together,” Momo finishes. “Yeah, exactly. There’s no way to know for sure, though.”

“Maybe you could talk to them?” Nayeon asks. “Like, put in a good word for me. As lame as that sounds.”

“Yeah,” Momo says, smiling. Her hand rests on Nayeon's cheek, like Nayeon is something precious. Like they both are. 

In her dreams, Nayeon sees the child’s face. Squishy cheeks and clueless eyes and tiny hands reaching out towards her, like she was someone who could be trusted. 

She wakes up sweating, her heart hammering in her chest. It still takes her a second to remember where she is, even though the same dream has been waking her up for weeks. Glances over at the digital clock on her dresser. 3:30 am. 

Two weeks and four days, now. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: light violence and blood. references to ptsd. brainwashing as a theme throughout.

“They’re not putting you on the assignment.”

“What do you mean, Jihyo?_” _Nayeon protests, aware that she's raising her voice but too busy seeing red to care. 

Jihyo glances around nervously. “Can you please be quiet? I’m not even supposed to be telling you this.”

The walls of the conference room are thin. Nayeon kind of wants to kick them down and scream for real. But there’s some busted part of her heart that’s soft for Jihyo. She can’t help remembering Jihyo as the big-eyed first-year who lived down the hall during Nayeon’s final year of training, who was smart but never condescending, and covered for Nayeon when the nastier supervisors came knocking.

Also, Nayeon’s own job situation sucks enough. There’s no reason to drag Jihyo down with her. 

“They’re not sending me,” Nayeon states. “But they are sending Momo.” 

It’s not a question. Momo is the best assassin the company has seen in years. If the company isn’t not sending a whole team, they’re sending Momo for sure. 

Jihyo nods, confirming Nayeon’s suspicion. 

“So who’s the field agent?”  
  
“Dahyun,” Jihyo says. “You know Dahyun, right?”

Of course Nayeon knows Dahyun. There aren’t _ that _ many field agents in the company — the majority of the trainees go into behind-the-scenes work, coding and weapons manufacturing and other boring shit that makes Nayeon’s eyes roll back in her head. Dahyun was a few years behind Nayeon in training. She’s a nice girl. Smiles too much. Never struck Nayeon as particularly remarkable, but. 

It turns out that what Nayeon thinks doesn’t actually matter in the grand scheme of things. 

“They have really high hopes for her,” Jihyo continues. “And they think her and Momo will make a great team.” 

Jihyo is always matter-of-fact. It’s how she got to be where she is. Jihyo may be a kind person, but she never lets herself get weighed down by feelings. Nayeon envies the trait more than she cares to admit. 

So it’s not like she expects Jihyo to hold her hand through this. But she sort of wants to grab Jihyo by the shoulders and break down crying, asking _ what about me? What about me? _ until she hears a satisfying answer. 

“What about me?” Nayeon asks, and she’s not crying, but something in her voice sounds breakable.

“I don’t know,” Jihyo says. Her eyes flash with sympathy for a second, but only a second. Jihyo is a prodigy, after all. “If I hear anything, I’ll tell you.”

There’s somewhere more important Jihyo has to be, so she leaves Nayeon alone in the conference room. There’s a sick feeling in the bottom of Nayeon’s stomach. It was so stupid to let herself expect anything more than what she got. 

Why would the company pick her to go with Momo on the mission? Momo is the best assassin the company has ever seen, and Nayeon...

Nayeon is a liability. 

When Nayeon returns to the computer lab, Tzuyu is sitting in her chair. 

Part of her wants to be angry, because the disappointment from Jihyo’s news is still fresh and she needs to take her feelings out on _ something. _Plus, Tzuyu actually has a job, and she really doesn’t need to be here flaunting that in Nayeon’s face. 

Nayeon holds back once she remembers that Tzuyu literally killed a man not even forty-eight hours ago. She takes a deep breath, lets her blood simmer down a little, and slides into Mina’s empty chair instead. 

Nayeon is an actress. Putting on an air of nonchalance is 101 stuff. “Chaeng. Murder Barbie.”

“Nayeon,” Tzuyu says, her voice dipping low the way it always does. “I forgot you work in here now.”

Seated beside Tzuyu, Chaeyoung rolls her eyes. “If you can call it that.”

“And I heard you killed a dude for real this time,” Nayeon says, brushing Chaeyoung off. “Impressive.”

“_Crazy _impressive,” Chaeyoung jumps in. 

“It was nothing,” Tzuyu mumbles. Tzuyu is rarely expressive, but Nayeon notices that her cheeks turn pink. Interesting.  
  
“Nothing? Are you kidding me? You were wearing high heels and an evening gown! You shot him from the _ front _ and you made it out of there in what, thirty seconds?” Chaeyoung is almost bouncing on the edge of her seat, like just recounting the details of the story is enough to get her adrenaline pumping.  
  
“I mean, it’s nothing compared to what Momo can do,” Tzuyu says. But Nayeon notices she doesn’t say it resentfully. Rather, her soft eyes hint at admiration. Even if Tzuyu wanted to be jealous of Momo, she probably wouldn’t be able to manage it. No one can. Momo is so easy to love, she’s practically contagious. Her success feels like it belongs to everyone. Her happiness makes others happy, too. 

"Well, no one's like Momo,” Nayeon says. “But don’t knock yourself. I bet the higher-ups are impressed.” 

The words taste bitter in Nayeon’s mouth, and she kind of hates herself, which feels terrible and completely out of line with who she’s always been. Fuck. Probation is messing with her head. Back when it had only been a week since Nayeon was supposed to hear about the new mission, and she was still in the beginning stages of freaking out, Jeongyeon joked that Nayeon could use this time to “better herself.” It was meant to be a dig, but Nayeon actually considered it before realizing she didn’t have a clue where to start. She was trained to do one thing. As far as she knows, that’s all she’s meant to do. Any possibilities beyond that live in the same mental box as her nightmares, beneath a label reading _not safe to think about. _

“It seems like it,” Tzuyu says. “They want to send me on another mission next week.”

“A week? Isn’t that really soon?” Chaeyoung asks. Her voice is calm, but her forehead wrinkles the way it does when she’s stressed. 

“I guess it is, but there’s no such thing as perfect timing,” Tzuyu says. She sounds confident, but also like she’s repeating words that someone else told her. "I won't be the only assassin going. It'll have a whole team. I wish Momo could come, though."

In Nayeon's opinion, Momo has enough on her plate. But there's a wistful sort of look in Tzuyu's eyes, and Nayeon can't pretend she doesn't understand. 

Nayeon knew Momo was special before they even met. 

There was always an air of excitement around the center whenever a new trainee was set to arrive, but the supervisors seemed particularly...giddy for this one. While taking a purposely-long water break during her coding seminar, Nayeon heard two of them talking in the hallway. 

“Incredible natural abilities,” one of them said. “Like nothing we’ve ever seen before.” 

So Nayeon knew the new girl was a big deal. And as a big deal herself, Nayeon was curious. She was in training, after all, to be calculating in every situation. To take account of all possible competition, and come out on top no matter what. 

But Momo wasn’t exactly what Nayeon had expected. 

“Fresh meat alert,” Sana said at dinner, prompting Nayeon to jerk her head up at a breakneck speed. 

Her eyes landed on a nervous-looking girl wearing a low ponytail and tennis shoes, standing by two supervisors near the cafeteria entrance. Their eyes met, and the girl’s face broke out into a smile, as if Nayeon was someone she knew. Nayeon looked away before anyone got the wrong idea. 

“Should we ask her to sit with us?” Sana asked. 

“No,” Nayeon snapped, taking a long sip of milk. 

“Don’t be a bitch,” Jeongyeon said. 

“Sorry,” Nayeon replied, because she was still in the process of getting on Jeongyeon’s good side. “It’s just..._her? _Really?”

“What’s wrong with her?”

Nayeon shrugged. “She doesn’t look like much, is all.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t judge people based on appearances,” Jeongyeon said. 

Nayeon knew Jeongyeon was right. But that didn’t mean she had to be the new girl’s friend. She wasn’t in training to make friends, and the ones she did have she did her best to keep at an arm’s length. 

Who cared, really, if the girl’s smile seemed to stop time in a way that caused Nayeon to panic? Who cared if she couldn’t get it out of her head? 

To this day, Nayeon can't explain what compelled her to sneak into the gym to observe Momo’s sparring evaluation.

Hiding behind a stack of unused folding mats, Nayeon watched the sparring instructor — known only to them as Coach — and Momo circle each other. Momo’s tank top was sleeveless, and it was obvious that she wasn’t as bony as she looked upon first glance. 

“I’m going to attack you,” Coach said. “Your job is just to respond.”

“Okay,” Momo said, moving into an athletic stance. 

Nayeon held her breath. When Coach lunged at Momo, she shut her eyes, waiting for the inevitable thump of Momo’s body hitting the ground. Except it didn’t come. To Nayeon's shock, she opened her eyes to see Momo still standing, fists clenched. Coach’s lip was bleeding. Momo had punched him in the face. 

“Oh my god!” Momo exclaimed, walking towards Coach with her hand outstretched. Nayeon was caught off-guard by the tone of her voice — she sounded genuinely concerned. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to actually hurt you. I just-” 

Genuine, maybe, but also a huge mistake. Coach lunged at Momo in an instant, picking her up and tossing her to the ground. Momo rolled onto her stomach. Nayeon’s hand flew to cover her mouth.

“You did good,” Coach said, standing over Momo, who made no effort to get up. “You retaliated. That’s impressive. But you never _ever _check to see if an opponent is okay. The wellbeing of your opponent is not your concern. Your priority is winning the fight. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” Momo said. She sounded a little breathless, like maybe the wind had been knocked out of her.

“Still, that was a solid punch you threw,” Coach said. When he smiled, his teeth were slightly rosy with blood. “I see why they’re so excited about you. I’ll write up the report, and a supervisor will contact you about your training schedule.” 

Coach helped Momo up, placing a hand on her back as he led her out of the gym. Once she was sure she was alone, Nayeon emerged from her hiding spot. She made her way out of the gym, shoes clicking against the polished wooden floor. Her mind was racing.

It was miraculous, really, that Momo managed to hit Coach. New trainees didn’t hit Coach; it simply wasn’t something that happened. Nayeon never had to undergo a sparring evaluation, but she knew the point was to test reflexes, not fight skills. When Sana talked about her own evaluation, she said she had just closed her eyes and waited for the whole thing to be over. Sana was a great fighter, but she had to be trained. She wouldn’t have been able to go up against Coach during her first week as a trainee. 

But as impressive as it was, it wasn’t Momo’s performance that Nayeon couldn’t stop thinking about.

For the rest of the day up until the moment she fell asleep, Nayeon’s head kept replaying the quiet moment between the two bouts of violence, when Momo had approached Coach with those eyes and that soft voice, worried if _ he _was okay. As if she had been unaware of her own strength. Or afraid of it. 

Vulnerability like that wasn’t the kind of thing Nayeon saw every day. Not since she’d started her training.

So maybe Momo was a big deal, after all. 

The next morning at breakfast, Nayeon made a beeline for the table where Momo was eating alone. “Hi. I’m Nayeon. You’re Momo. You’re new.” 

Momo jumped slightly, as if Nayeon was a ghost who’d popped out of nowhere. From behind Momo’s head, Nayeon could see the shocked faces of Jeongyeon and Sana staring at them from their usual table. She sent them a pointed glare, and they both turned back to their food.

“You’re right, I’m new,” Momo said. “And you’re Nayeon. You know, people around here seem kind of scared of you.” 

It wasn’t surprising, that Momo had already heard of Nayeon. Word travelled fast at the training center, and it wasn’t like Nayeon was unaware of her reputation. She helped create it, after all. 

“It’s because I’m good,” Nayeon replied.

“Should I be scared too, then? If you’re really good?” Momo asked, taking a large bite of fruit. 

“No. Because you’re really good too.”

Momo swallowed. “How do you know I’m good?”

Nayeon could lie. Lying was one of her specialties. But sitting across from Momo, who was authentic and curious and not at all as guarded as she should be, Nayeon was filled with a sudden urge to tell the truth. 

“I saw your sparring evaluation.” 

“You were spying on me?”

“That’s kind of what we do here,” Nayeon said, stealing an apple slice off Momo’s plate. “Are you creeped out?” 

_ You should be, _ Nayeon thought. _ When you’re here, you should always be cautious. You should question everything, and trust no one. _

“No,” Momo said with a smile — the same smile she shared with Nayeon on her first day. It was a lot bigger and brighter up close. “I’m just happy you think I’m good.” 

Near the entrance to the cafeteria, a supervisor was standing with his hand folded. He was wearing dark sunglasses, but Nayeon felt his eyes on them. She didn’t know for sure if he was observing her or Momo, but she had a hunch. She wasn’t the only one who thought Momo was good. Not by a long shot. 

And in the following years, Momo would show everyone just how good she really was. She seemed to improve at the speed of light, surpassing the rest of the department’s trainees in less than a year. The company started sending in specialists to train with Momo one-on-one. Nayeon thought Sana, like some of the other junior assassins, would be bitter. But when Sana spoke about Momo, her voice was always full of awe: “Her body’s just _ different. _I can’t even explain it. It’s like she was programmed to fight, or something.” 

Just like Momo’s skills were beyond explanation, so was the rate at which Momo eased her way into Nayeon’s life. Evenings that used to be spent alone were now spent with Momo, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on Nayeon’s bunk, sharing jokes and whatever secrets from their old lives they still clung onto. They sat together at lunch every day and swapped uniform clothes just to see if anyone would notice. Sometimes, they cried together. Sometimes they didn’t talk at all. It was new and magical to Nayeon, the way silence never felt awkward between them. 

There wasn’t a specific moment when Nayeon realized it. No burst of clarity like, _ oh, Momo is the most important person in my life. _It just happened. By the time it finally occurred to her, it was too late. Not that Nayeon was complaining. She would never want to go back to before, not now. She didn’t want to picture a version of herself without Momo by her side. 

The night before they graduated, they lay facing each other on Nayeon’s bed. Even though Nayeon had started training years before Momo, Momo was such a prodigy that they would become full-fledged agents together. Nayeon was past the point of being awestruck by Momo’s talent. Instead, she felt grateful. Whatever lay ahead, she didn’t have to do it alone. 

“We’re going to be amazing,” Momo said, squeezing Nayeon’s hand. “There’s no one like us.” 

_ There’s no one like you, _Nayeon thought. She meant it both ways. Momo was special, because she was funny and always knew what to say and made Nayeon feel safe like no one else did. But Momo was also special to the company, and that set her apart. Everyone knew it. 

Nayeon could only hope that she was special, too. 

When Nayeon gets back to the apartment, Momo is stretching in the living room. Nayeon pauses, allowing her eyes to linger on the sight of Momo’s calves in those leggings, because — she’s had a long day, okay?

Momo switches positions, and as she does, her eyes land on Nayeon. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Nayeon replies, glancing down at her feet to cover the fact that she was staring. “How’s the day off?” 

The company usually gives them a day to recuperate after particularly stressful missions. No longer, though, or else they might get complacent. At least, that was Nayeon’s hypothesis as to the reasoning. It wasn’t like there was anything official in the rulebook. They didn’t even have a rulebook. 

“It’s not bad,” Momo says. “How’s work? Any news on the mission?” 

Nayeon’s face must give her away, because Momo’s eyes widen with concern, and she immediately rushes to Nayeon’s side. 

“They’re sending you with _ Dahyun," _Nayeon groans.

“Oh,” Momo says as she starts to massage Nayeon’s shoulders. “I don’t think I know Dahyun.”

“She’s nice,” Nayeon sniffs. “She’s really fucking nice.”

Momo moves to stand behind Nayeon and wrap her in a hug. 

“I’m not nice,” Nayeon whispers.

“I think you’re nice.”

“That’s because you’re the only person I’m nice to. And even that’s only, like, fifty percent of the time.”

“It’s more than that,” Momo murmurs, resting her head on Nayeon’s shoulder. 

“All I want is another chance,” Nayeon says. “But I don’t know what they want from me and I don’t know how to make them want me again.” 

“Listen,” Momo says, and Nayeon turns to face her. “You’re an incredible field agent. You have the skills and you have the experience. They know that. I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I’m sure everything will be back to normal soon.”

“Yeah.” Nayeon isn’t sure if she believes Momo. With every day that passes, the more she loses track of what “normal” even is. 

But it’s nice to hear, at least. Nayeon buries her head into Momo’s collarbone, and they cling to each other, until Nayeon’s breathing returns to normal. Then Momo breaks the silence. “Do you want to go to the movies?”

“The movies_?” _Nayeon repeats, incredulous. They haven’t gone to the movies in years. 

“Why not?” Momo shrugs. “It’s not too late. And we could both use something that’ll get us out of our heads.” 

The reasoning is a little weird — not really what Nayeon expected to hear. But Momo does have a point. Nayeon has been in her head too much recently, and getting out of the apartment kind of sounds like the best idea in the world. Sometimes she doesn't realize she's being suffocated by her daily routine until something disrupts it.

“Will you try to put your arm around me in the dark?” Nayeon asks, playfully lifting her eyebrows as she pulls her jacket on. 

“Only if you buy me popcorn,” Momo retorts, sticking out her tongue. But they hold hands in the elevator anyway. 

They were still living in the first apartment, the one that burned down, the night things changed. Momo was sitting on Nayeon’s bed the way she did every night, talking in low whispers so they wouldn’t wake anyone else up. When 2:00 AM rolled around, Momo got up and pulled her sweatshirt over her head, making her way towards the doorway. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Nayeon said, because she didn’t go through six years of training just to end up a coward. 

Momo turned around, and the light from the lamp on Nayeon’s dresser made her face look even softer than usual. “Do what?”  
  
“Leave.”

And so Momo stayed. And stayed and stayed. 

They don’t say they’re dating, exactly. Dating is strictly prohibited by the company, and besides, the word doesn’t seem to fit right on them. Nayeon doesn’t know if something so ordinary ever will. Relationships require stability, which is a concept that neither Nayeon nor Momo have been familiar with for a very long time. They can never guarantee they'll put each other first, above everything else, no matter what happens. There are two contracts somewhere in a locked vault preventing them from making such optimistic, light-hearted promises. 

Still, when Nayeon watches movies or dramas, she sees herself and Momo in the lovers every single time. They don’t say it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there, flickering between heat and warmth, linking them together no matter how far apart they are. 

Momo picks the movie. It’s an adaption of a young adult novel that Nayeon’s never heard of before. On the poster is some blonde girl holding a slingshot in one hand and a puppy in the other. Nayeon suspects Momo’s choice had more to do with the puppy than anything else. 

As soon as the lights go down, the couple seated in front of them start making out. Nayeon nudges Momo, who snorts in response.

The movie goes on, and Nayeon quickly finds herself losing interest in the plot. Instead, she finds herself focusing on the couple in front of them. They’re two girls, just like her and Momo. One of them opens her mouth, letting the other feed her pieces of candy. The whole thing is sickly sweet and so _ normal _it makes Nayeon’s chest ache. 

She wonders if a stranger entering the theater would see any difference between that couple, and her and Momo. Probably not. A stranger wouldn’t know that Momo kills people, or that Nayeon hasn’t been given news of a mission in over two weeks. To most of the world, they look like a regular couple on a date.

The realization is equal parts strange and wonderful, and Nayeon can’t stop herself. She imagines her and Momo as one of those couples who take goofy photos of themselves and go on weekend trips and drift from boring topic to boring topic without even realizing that what they're talking about is boring. Because they've never known that there was anything else out there. Because they've never known love outside of safety. 

As far as pipe dreams go, it's not terrible.

Nayeon is startled out of her thoughts by a sudden, sharp pain in her upper arm. Instinctively, she jerks away. Then she realizes what's happening.

Next to her, Momo's face is twisted in fear. Her whole body seems to be shaking, including the hand wrapped in a desperate iron grip around Nayeon's bicep. Nayeon follows Momo's frozen gaze to the big screen, where the blonde girl from the poster is suddenly covered in blood. The sound of gunshots come through the surround sound, reverberating through the room. Momo lets out a high-pitched scream. 

The couple seated in front of them breaks apart to turn around, confusion and annoyance on their faces. Nayeon ignores them. 

"Let's go," she says, using all her strength to pry herself from Momo's grip so she can help Momo out of her seat. Nayeon lets Momo lean on her as they leave the theater and then the building. She doesn't stop to process anything until they're safe in the car, and she's rubbing Momo's back in a desperate attempt to calm her breathing. 

Ten minutes pass before Momo can speak. When she does, it still sounds like she's heaving. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Nayeon says. "Drink water."

The bottle is warm — it's probably been in the car for days. But it's all Nayeon has, and she makes sure Momo finishes the whole thing. 

"I don't know what happened," Momo says, as Nayeon uses her sleeve to wipe stray droplets off her chin. "It was like I was back there, all of a sudden."

Nayeon wants to ask where back there is, but that's not what Momo needs right now. Besides, Nayeon has a pretty good guess. If she thinks about it too long, her whole body might explode out of anger, or collapse out of defeat. 

"You're here," Nayeon says. "You're here and you're safe."

"I ruined the movie."

"I wasn't paying attention anyway."

Momo lets out a shaky laugh and the sound floods Nayeon with relief.

But that night, in the back of her mind, the faces of the couple from the theater just won't leave. 

Nayeon may not know those girls personally, but she's never had a problem making assumptions. She'd bet all the missions in the world that they have never seen blood apart from a scraped knee, have never seen death except in the movies. 

Staring up at her bedroom ceiling, Nayeon reminds herself of the truth she knows too well. It doesn't matter what a stranger walking into the theater might see. As far as real life goes, Nayeon and Momo exist on a separate planet. One where safety is an illusion and stability is meaningless. Where you can be in love but never really be okay. 

That's been Nayeon's life for as long as she lets herself remember. By now she knows not to get caught up in pipe dreams. 

**Author's Note:**

> some notes on the content: 
> 
> mentions of murder/death/other assassin stuff occur throughout. there's no graphic violence in this chapter.
> 
> trauma and post-traumatic symptoms will be a theme in later chapters. i'll provide more in-depth warnings for those, but it's hinted at in this one. basically we're dealing with a shady espionage company that brainwashes its agents into joining and cooperating. if that doesn't sound fun to read about, please don't read. 
> 
> i love you all.


End file.
